


When The Past Catches Up

by Telaryn



Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Control, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Control, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 09:11:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13291677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: Eliot is struggling with the news that they will be chasing Damien Moreau, and the truth of his past that will have to be disclosed to the team.Fortunately when he has trouble controlling himself and his emotions, Eliot has somebody he can turn to for help.





	When The Past Catches Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whimseyrhodes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimseyrhodes/gifts).



> Prompt: 2. A situation with Moreau. After Eliot realizes the team is after him, he contacts Eliot (for a job, for a taunt, whatever). The result is that Eliot is even more antsy. Delve into his mind space.
> 
> I also threw in a little Hardison/Spencer smut for garnish, because dayum! *g* Here's hoping you enjoyed yourself this round, and we see you again next time!

_Damien Moreau._ He’d been on the verge of asking Nate to repeat himself, on the off chance Eliot had heard him wrong, but stopped himself just in time. If none of the team had connected the dots yet, the last thing he needed to be doing was sending them down that particular rabbit hole.

_”I always know where my place is. Protecting you.”_

_”Eliot, nothing has happened here that cannot be fixed.”_

_”I won't allow that. I will not have lesser men rising to false prominence over you! Over your body! That is not how this ends.”_

_”Mr. Moreau sends his regards.”_

_Moreau’s Dog…Damien’s Right Hand…_ Barely out of his twenties, it had been a hell of a weight to carry on his shoulders. Eliot had born it proudly though; for five years of his life, his sun had risen and set on Damien Moreau’s orders.

That was the part they wouldn’t understand, he realized with a sick certainty as he listened to the team talk over each other in a vain attempt to find their collective footing. They couldn’t know how it had felt to have somebody so rich and powerful and charismatic look at you and see – not just a weapon to be used – but a kindred spirit. _A brother. That night in Belgrade – he called me brother._

“Eliot.”

Startled, he looked up into Nate’s eyes – knowing instinctively where his leader was in the room, even though he hadn’t actively been paying attention. “You okay?” Nate asked.

The hitter forced a smile on his face – just enough to be reassuring, not enough to alert the less focused that things were definitely _not_ okay in his world right now. “It’s a lot to process,” he said, pushing himself to his feet and heading for the kitchen. “I think I’m going to throw dinner together for everyone. Pasta al forno okay?”

He could feel the weight of Nate’s gaze on him as he removed himself from the still roiling chaos without waiting for an answer. No one seriously thought that the suggestions they were firing at each other had a chance of working – at least he hoped they didn’t – but it was a way to try and imagine you had control of the situation.

Questions would eventually come his way; most of them from Nate, unless Hardison went sniffing places he shouldn’t, but none of them would willingly follow him into the kitchen uninvited.

 _Mikel…Quinn…Shelly…Barton…Riggs, if the sonofabitch hasn’t eaten his gun yet…_ It was a short list of people he could reach out to safely under the circumstances, but they were all skilled enough to track Moreau for him, and friendly enough that most of them would trade favor for favor and not turn around and sell him out.

 _Then what?_ It brought him up short, and once again his gaze instinctively tracked to where Nate was in the room. _Protect your king._ In chess there was no higher law. _”Chess is the perfect metaphor for everything men like you and me strive to achieve in this world, Eliot.”_

 _God…_ Biting down hard on his lower lip, Eliot reached instinctively for an onion. Damien had loved chess with a passion Eliot hadn’t been able to stop himself from responding to, and he’d taught the younger man everything he knew. They played most evenings together in Damien’s study – Moreau drinking his favorite brandy, Eliot nursing some of the finest beer he’d ever tasted in his life. “If I can’t cure you of drinking that swill,” Damien had sighed, “at least we can make certain what you are drinking is worthy of you.”  
**************************************  
The problem with his little walk down memory lane was that life with Damien had been equal parts good and bad. Moreau had arguably fashioned Eliot into the man he was today, but it was also at Moreau’s word that he learned to hate that same man. Some nights when he couldn’t keep the darker memories at bay, it seemed to Eliot that for every rival businessman he’d taken out, there was a dead child slaughtered in the name of Damien ‘making a point’.

He managed to keep it together during dinner, but he noticed Sophie watching him by the time dishes were being cleared and the leftovers packed away. Questions were definitely coming, and if he spent the night battling flashbacks, they were going to end up being the wrong questions; ones he couldn’t afford to answer.

Pushing to his feet with a soft groan, Eliot went to the window and fired off two texts. Mindful of the Italian and whatever forces she might have monitoring their communications, he structured the first one as a general request for intel on Moreau and his current movements.

The second one was to Hardison, and as Eliot prepared himself to say as normal a good night to everyone as he could manage, he saw the hacker check his phone. “One hour,” Hardison said softly as they embraced a few moments later, Eliot having successfully navigated Nate and Sophie’s attempts to keep him around longer.

If he stopped long enough to think about it, Eliot supposed it hadn’t been a surprise to learn that Hardison had read everything he could get his hands on about PTSD. What had completely floored Eliot was when the hacker offered him a chance to safely recover the one part of his relationship with Damien Moreau he’d never had the courage to bring up to Nate. _Of course, you were never completely honest with Damien about why you needed it either,_ he recalled.

Once they had become lovers, Damien had enjoyed the extra level of control Eliot allowed him. In turn Eliot had found a release from his nightmares.

Which wasn’t the whole story, he was forced to acknowledge as he let himself into his apartment. Submission was something that came naturally to him, and sometimes it was just a relief to give over responsibility for his life to someone else for a while.

Against all of his expectations, Hardison understood. And more than that, the hacker had been willing to step in and watch over Eliot when he was too tired to watch over himself.

The fact that he was good at it was a bonus Eliot had never expected to find.

Almost precisely an hour after they’d parted, Hardison was letting himself into the apartment. “Hey,” he greeted Eliot, after locking the door behind him. “You know Nate and Sophie are worried something’s up with you.”

Eliot grimaced, but went automatically to the kitchen and got a bottle of orange soda from the back of the refrigerator. Opening it, he toed off his shoes before returning to the living room.

 _Little rituals._ All of them non-sexual, but now that the rhythm was as natural to him as breathing Eliot had to appreciate his teammate’s genius. Eliot would always be barefoot, Hardison would always be greeted at the couch with a cold orange soda, Eliot would always be on his knees when they talked, never speaking unless spoken to…fitted together in sequence, each action worked to calm and center him as well as any martial arts kata he knew.

When they were both in position, Hardison reached out and caressed Eliot’s hair. “So…what _is_ up with you?”

He wasn’t ready to confess his connection to Moreau – not yet – but Eliot did respond by talking at length about his fears regarding the man and what moving into his arena would mean for the team as a whole and Nate in particular. “His luck can’t hold forever.”

Hardison snorted softly. “I’d say his luck ran out on the deck of that ship.”

“Exactly,” Eliot agreed, feeling himself start to slip out of sub space. “And that was a stray bullet! Just…” He broke off as Hardison fixed him with the ‘look’. Exhaling softly, Eliot nodded and re-centered himself.

When he was calm again – inside and out – Hardison leaned forward. “None of this can be fixed tonight. You get that, right?”

“I texted everyone I could think of,” Eliot began, but he fell silent again as Hardison shook his head.

“Wrong answer. I know you’ve already done everything you can. Now it’s time to trust your people and yourself and let it go.”

He didn’t want to. What the Italian had laid on them was too big to be ignored or treated lightly and Eliot knew that if he just pushed a little harder he could get Alec to see that, and…

But that wasn’t why he’d asked Hardison to come over. It wasn’t why he was on his knees looking up at his teammate, and it definitely wasn’t why Hardison was looking at _him_ like that. “I don’t want to punish you tonight,” the hacker said, his voice dropping as he leaned in closer, “but I will if you can’t get your head on straight, understand?”

There was a part of Eliot’s soul that knew punishment was what he deserved – all he deserved – and experience had proven Hardison wasn’t afraid of hurting him with the whip or paddle like other lovers he’d had. It made the prospect of true punishment a release all on its own. 

Uppermost in his mind, though, was the awareness that Hardison was now close enough to kiss – and while punishment might have been what he deserved, what he _craved_ was someone he trusted to tell him he wasn’t some kind of horrible, broken mess not fit to share space with decent people.

Exhaling softly, Eliot willed his thoughts to quiet at last. “I understand, sir,” he said, his own voice softening as he let his awareness shrink down to the man sitting opposite him. “What should I do?”

Hardison studied him for a long moment. Eliot held himself as still as possible, reaching for that space deep inside his brain where the blood and the ghosts couldn’t go. That place in his head where he really had done all he could do.

The place where he was enough.

Almost before he realized it, Alec’s lips were on his, and the hacker’s palms were cradling his jaw – holding him still. The kiss was gentle but thorough, with hints of a deeper hunger, and for a moment Eliot found the peace he’d been reaching for.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom,” Alec told him, as their lips parted. “See if I can keep you out of that head of yours.”

Eliot waited for Hardison to get to his feet, then followed him. The two of them were halfway to his bedroom when his phone rang. Ducking his head apologetically, Eliot slid the phone out and brought it to his ear.

_“Eliot, my friend! It is Damien Moreau.”_

Heart pounding, Eliot couldn’t disguise his horrified expression. Hardison reached for him, but Eliot flinched out of his grasp.

_“Let’s catch up.”_


End file.
